Through the Dark
by Anera527
Summary: Sequel to "Capable". Alec Hardy thought that by staying in Broadchurch he could avoid the demons of his past. What he never realized, however, was that sometimes those demons follow you wherever you go.
1. Chapter 1

"_**Through the Dark"**_

A/N: This story takes place following the first season of Broadchurch, and is a continuation of my one-shot "Capable". I would advise you to go read that first, but just for clarification's sake I'll summarize its plot here: Alec Hardy, when he was twenty-five, arrested his best friend when the man shot and killed his wife. I had a lot of different little ideas for a reunion for Alec and his best friend, and I finally decided to write this down.

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The view atop the cliffs of Broadchurch was breathtaking. The ocean was spread out as far as the eye could see like a vast blue carpet, writhing and foaming as it murmured and groaned over the beach. The wind smelled heavily of salt, a strangely refreshing scent that was equally invigorating and calming. The town itself was visible only from the lights of the houses and streetlamps, a busy, loud mini civilization laid out amidst the rugged Dorset landscape.

Dusk was falling, obscuring much of the beauty of the surroundings, but this was one of Alec Hardy's favorite times to come. In the near-dark he was barely noticeable, something he very much preferred, and the air itself was cooler so that he could walk comfortably. He preferred also the last light of the day on the water, rather than its shimmering brightness during the high of the day.

He'd found himself coming to this spot more and more often now, since the close of Danny Latimer's murder. He had always found a strange release listening to the sound of the ocean, and tonight was no different. Out here in the idle of nowhere, or near enough that, he didn't have to pretend. Didn't have to keep his barriers up, and didn't have to pretend that he cared about half the bullshit that he was presented with throughout his day. Out here he could simply stand in silence and let the world pass him by without the threat of judging eyes.

Out here he could think.

The air was gaining a chilly edge to it. Nearing fall, and then the cold of winter. He was still warm enough in his old detective's jacket (which, he would never admit, hung too loosely off his frame), which was flapping in the breeze, but he knew he wouldn't be soon enough. In the winter he wouldn't be able to make these walks over here to the cliff's edge but that was all the reason for them now. He didn't know how he was going to feel being shut up at the tiny little town spread out far below to his right. He didn't hate the small-town feel of Broadchurch quite as much as he had a few months ago, but he missed the bustle and crowds of Glasgow where he could blend in much easier.

The sun was fully setting now, falling behind the water. The last light of the day was fast bleeding away, leaving everything a washed out greyish-blue. He waited until he saw the first faint glimmering of the stars before turning and walking back the way he'd come, ignoring (as always) the heavy irregular beating of his heart.

He hadn't quite recovered from his heart attack from a couple months ago, when chasing a suspect from the hut at Briar Cliff. Its affect had left him weakened and slurring half his words, and had frightened Ellie Miller to death; like everything else, however, Alec had adjusted to the new circumstance and stubbornly pushed on. He was medicaled out of the police force now anyway so that was one less stress he could push on his heart. Miller was pushing him, though, trying to get him to agree to a pacemaker surgery.

Speaking of Miller…

He was just walking through a dimly-lit field, strung with multi-colored lights, when he saw a familiar bright orange coat striding towards him pushing a stroller. He rolled his eyes at the monstrous coat, wondering if Miller knew how ridiculous she looked wearing it, and continued on his way. When they met halfway across the tall grass he passed her by without a word. He thought he heard her huff of exasperation and heard the stroller being turned but did not look or even stop.

"You know, there are such things as 'manners', sir," she called to him as she struggled to catch up. His long legs were making it difficult for her much shorter strides. Her son Fred, safely tucked into his seat, giggled and waved his arms, babbling to himself like only a two-year-old could. She smiled to hear him, but still couldn't help her sense of irritation at her old boss's lack of consideration.

"You didn't have to come and find me," he called back shortly; his strong Scottish brogue had roughened a little in his own irritation, clearly put off that she had come to find him, but she was not daunted.

She knew him too well for that, and he knew it.

Panting a little in her exertion, Ellie finally reached his side. "Fred wanted a walk," she explained. "I thought you might like some company."

He glanced over at her. Her mouth turned down, and blurted before she could stop herself, "My god, you look horrible. Where have you been hanging out at, under the Broadchurch pier?"

It had been a few days since Ellie had seen him last, which was usually how it worked, and tonight he looked a little worse for wear. His hair was ruffled and unkempt, in need of a trim, and his dark stubble had thickened into a genuine beard, only highlighting his milky skin and sunken eyes. He was clearly exhausted.

"I'm fine,' he answered shortly, in no mood to talk of his health.

Ellie raised an eyebrow, less than impressed with his retort, but held her tongue for the moment knowing when wasn't the right time to push him. "Tom told me to tell you hello."

He looked over at her again. "Where is Tom?"

"Over at a friend's house." Ellie couldn't help her mix of happiness and worry for her eldest son; happiness because he was finally getting out of the house again and worry because of the accusations she was sure he would be receiving. But if Tom had at least one friend who didn't look at him as the son of a murderer and a pedophile then she would take it. 'I'm supposed to pick him up in an hour, actually, so I was wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner tonight?"

He frowned, taken aback. "I'm not your boss anymore, Miller. You don't have to invite me for dinner."

"You're impossible sometimes, you know that?" Ellie rolled her eyes. "You don't just invite your bosses to dinner. You invite _friends_ to dinner as well. It's called socializing."

He snorted. "I don't do that sort of thing."

Ellie sighed. She knew he didn't, but she had been hoping that he would be willing for just one evening. Not surprising, though; sometimes she thought Alec Hardy wouldn't know a social cue if it smacked him upside the head. "Come on,' she cajoled him, "just one evening. You must have had friends back in Scotland."

For a split second he froze, swinging to look at her with shaowed eyes. Not angry. Careful. "That was in Scotland," he said tersely. "Not here."

At that moment Fred screeched a laugh and reached out to grab at Alec's pant leg, still babbling away happily and looking at him with wide brown eyes. For a moment Alec simply looked down at the child in bemusement, then heaved a sigh. "Suppose he's taking your side, then," he told Ellie accusingly, but his tone was without bite. He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Just for this evening."

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The restaurant Ellie led them to was small and inconspicuous, quiet for this time of night, and on the border of the town. Until he'd actually sat down at the table they were shown Alec hadn't realized he was hungry and so took a few moments to silently look at the menu, listening to Miller placing Fred in a high seat.

When finally Miller had seated herself, he looked up at her. In the light, he realized she herself looked weary. The dark had obscured much of it, but here she couldn't hide the deep shadows under her eyes or the new lines gouged onto her face, and it dismayed him to realize that she was starting to look vaguely like his own haggard reflection.

Joe Miller's confession of murdering Danny had torn her apart like nothing else could have. It had certainly destroyed what little nativity she had had left by the end of the case, and he wondered if, like him, she was now being kept awake by nightmares.

He hated the town for turning its back on Ellie Miller. He couldn't help but hear the whispered accusations that clearly dogged her heels wherever she went now, her closest friends now accusing her of being the wife of a murderer. Asking how she couldn't have possibly known what Joe was doing practically under his own roof.

She asked those very questions herself, he knew. _'I should've seen it,'_ she told him shortly after she'd found out the truth.

But very few of the loved ones ever really did see anything, he thought to himself. If the murderer wanted to keep it hidden they could keep it so very easily, especially if, like Ellie, their loved ones were busy with work. Sometimes, just sometimes, he wanted to point that out to those who said those things against Miller.

He wanted to point that out to Miller herself, but he wasn't entirely sure how she would take that information.

"Gone back to the station yet?" he asked quietly after they had ordered their respective meals.

Miller shook her head. "No."

He knew she wouldn't. The police headquarters held too much irony, too much pain, to willingly go back there again. The question had become their own little humorless joke, his comeback to her asking when he was going to schedule his surgery.

They ate most of their meal in silence, but that was perfectly fine by him having never been one for small talk. It was only when Miller had finished with feeding Fred that she spoke up again.

"Joe's been asking about me."

Alec froze for a moment, startled; then he could have kicked himself for not realizing that this was the reason she had come to seek him out. He sat back in his seat and was careful to keep eye contact. "Has he." It was not a question.

She nodded, swallowing hard. Her fingers were twisting her napkin nervously. "I just heard today. He'd asked for me while he was here, of course—"

She didn't visit him. That Alec knew for a fact.

"I dunno why I was so surprised that he would still wanting to see me, though."

He did. He had seen it while interrogating Joe following the man's confession. Joe Miller, underneath all of the humor and homey I-love-my-life, was a mere child wanting what he couldn't have and unable to find the support he needed without someone older and more mature than he was.

'_I wanted something that was mine.'_ That was what he had said when explaining why he had had Danny Latimer start meeting him in secret.

There had been something very childish about Joe during that interrogation, reduced to such a sniveling mess that Alec hadn't been able to help pitying him even through his hatred of the man's actions. It did not surprise him that Joe would be asking for his wife.

He wondered if Joe knew that Miller would never come to visit him.

"I don't know if I can forgive him."

He spoke without thinking. "Then don't. Murder isn't forgivable."

She laughed a small, raw laugh that tore at what little heart he had left. "I miss him," she confessed. "As much as I want to kill him myself."

He knew the feeling. He still shared it at times, thinking about his ex-wife. There were nights he still couldn't bear to sleep in a bed because she wasn't in it with him.

"Don't kill him either," he stated flatly, and completely seriously. "I don't want to arrest you too."

_I don't think I could stand that a second time._

His appetite gone, he stood. "Thanks for the dinner. I'll talk to you later." He managed a tight if genuine smile in Fred's direction, but left as quickly as he could, leaving Ellie sitting dejectedly by herself.

Once more walking by himself down the roads of the town, he allowed himself to take a deep breath. He didn't think Miller really meant anything when she said she wanted to kill Joe herself, but Alec had learned early on that _anyone_ was truly capable of murder.

There were times that Alec wanted to tell Miller of John O'Bailey, just to prove his point; but he'd found that the subject of that period of his life was tabooed. Even from himself.

There was, after all, no point in ghosts long buried. John O'Bailey would never cross his path again. He would make sure of that.

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In the late next morning, Ellie was taking her usual walk down the main street of the town, wrapped in her coat with a coffee in her hands. She very rarely planned where she was going during her morning walks, allowing instead her feet to mark the way. Today, inexplicably, her path took her past the police station (a direction she rarely took anymore).

Later she would wonder if it was luck or a curse that led her there that morning, because just as she was walking past the building a man walked out the front doors looking lost.

He was tall and thin, with greying golden hair and a haggard, worn face that must have been quite handsome when he was younger. His clothes, while clean, looked ragged and old, like newly-patched hand-me-downs.

She hesitated in her walk for just a moment, taken aback by his strange appearance in a town such as this; and in the very moment she stopped he caught sight of her.

"Hello, ma'am," he greeted her politely, walking up to her.

"Hello," she said nervously, trying to smile. He wasn't looking at her like he knew who she was, which was a relief, but she still didn't feel like talking with anyone at the moment, especially not with a stranger. But his eyes looked kind enough, even if they were tired. "Do you need help?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he said with a nod, and with a slight shock Ellie realized that his accent was Scottish. Her surprise turned very quickly into confusion when he continued. "I'm looking for Alec Hardy. You know him?"

This day, she realized, was about to get a whole lot more interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

"_**Chapter 2"**_

When John O'Bailey traveled his slow way to Broadchurch, he had not expected to have so much trouble. The journey itself took little time but stepping foot within its borders had started his troubles, first and foremost the fact that no matter where he went he could find no information on Alec Hardy.

He didn't know why. He had kept up with the news even while in prison, always following his friend's progress as best he could, and knew that it was likely that Alec would still be here. Even if he wasn't, there should have been at least one person who could tell him where he had gone. He had the suspicion that for some reason the town was, in some odd way, protecting its Scottish resident from prying eyes. Even the police department, when he visited, told him that Alec was "not there" and shooed him away.

Then as he'd left he managed to come across a woman walking the opposite direction, and knew as soon as he mentioned Alec's name that she knew him.

The woman looked at him warily. "I know him, yeah," she said, nodding. "He's—not one for visitors, though."

John didn't hesitate. "I'm an old friend of his," he explained. "John O'Bailey. I've been looking for him. I'd appreciate it, Miss-?"

"Ellie," she supplied quietly, hearing his question.

He nodded. "Ellie. I'd appreciate it if you could take me to meet him."

Again she hesitated, and again John had the peculiar sense of wary protection, which only confused him more. What were these people hiding? Finally, though: "C'mon," she sighed, giving in, "He'll be on the other side of town." She muttered to herself a moment, then drew out her phone and dialed a number. One ring later the call was picked up, loud enough for John to hear.

"What?"

Ellie scowled. "Again with the manners," she admonished him—Alec, John realized.

"It's eight in the bloody morning, Miller," came the retort. "I barely know the word 'manners' until noon."

"Ha ha," Ellie said sarcastically. "Look, I'm coming over. Should be there within thirty minutes."

"Miller—"

"I want you dressed and presentable when I get there," she interrupted. John looked at her in open surprise and admiration at her no-nonsense tone. "Thirty minutes." When all she received was silence on the opposite end she rolled her eyes. "Just say yes, sir."

"Yes," came the quiet reply finally. John smiled to himself.

"Good." Ellie disconnected the call and pocketed the phone. "Stubborn git," she muttered, but it was without bite.

"Have you known Alec long?" John asked curiously. They continued on their way, heading down the main street and along shops.

She shook her head. "Only a few months. It feels longer than that though, sometimes." She was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, then: "Sometimes I feel like I don't know him at all." But before he could ask her what she meant she shook herself and looked up at him with a tight, if genuine, smile. "Well, enough about me. What about you? How long have you known him for?"

"Since—forever, I guess," John said with a shrug. "We met when we were fifteen. Graduated together."

"Are you a cop too?"

He snorted. "Me? Please. Alec was the smarts of the two of us. I wouldn't have had the patience for all that schooling."

"Ellie!"

The shout behind them made Ellie turn in surprise, her expression closing off. "Chloe," she said, surprised. John watched a girl of about sixteen, short with long blonde hair, come up from one of the shops. She barely glanced at John as she came up, focused entirely on Ellie.

"Ellie, would you—I mean, you could try to get ahold of my mum again," she said a little bit shamefully, as if she thought she were treading dangerous waters.

Ellie shook her head. "No."

"But—"

"_No_, Chloe, and that's final. She doesn't want to talk to me. I'm sorry, but I've done all I can. It's up to her now."

Chloe looked so disheartened that John almost, _almost_, asked what was wrong, but his mother had raised him better than that and so he held his tongue. He merely watched as the girl finally nodded slightly, ducking her head, and walked away. Ellie looked back at her sadly, then turned away herself and continued on her way. An uncomfortable silence had fallen between the two of them, one he wasn't sure how to break.

He had learned while in jail, after all, that sometimes it was better if you said nothing at all. It made him sad, though, to see that Ellie looked so unhappy; she was the sort of person whose companions were affected by her moods.

He wondered again what her story with Alec was. Her phone conversation with him had not seemed the most—_genial_ of such, but maybe that was just their way. He didn't recall hearing Alec so blunt before, and Ellie had bossed him like a weary mother did her son.

"He lives here?" he blurted; they had finally reached a small flat, not run-down but certainly not part of the higher end of town. Ellie rolled her eyes as she approached the door, reaching up to knock. "It took me four weeks to get him to move out of that hotel room," she said in poor explanation.

_Hotel room?_

"We're here, Alec," Ellie called through the closed door, reaching up to knock again—

Before her hand could make contact the door swung open; John stayed back a few feet, nervous, as his old best friend stepped in view and he couldn't help but gasp softly when seeing him.

What had happened to the Alec Hardy he remembered? He recalled a healthy, well-groomed, lively man his own age, always quick to smile even if he didn't talk much. This unkempt, bedraggled _mess_ at the door couldn't be Alec.

"Bloody hell, you're impatient, Miller."

"Good morning to you, too," Ellie retorted. Then she paused, her voice suddenly softening with concern. "You alright?"

But she had lost his attention after her first sentence because at that moment Alec looked over shoulder and caught sight of John standing a few feet and abruptly he froze, a frankly dangerous snarl forming on his face.

"You."

The voice had even changed, roughening and deepening slightly. John remembered that look from years ago, and suddenly understood that, in Alec's eyes, nothing had changed. He nodded. "Me."

"Leave. _Now_."

Ellie stiffened. "What? What for god's sake, sir—"

He looked back at her, anger lighting his expression, and Ellie suddenly wanted to step away. It wasn't often that she ever saw him truly angry. "Turn around," he growled, "and leave. Take _him_ with you."

"Alec—"

The slamming of the door was her answer, and she reflexively sprang back before it could shut on her toes. Stunned, she turned back to John. There was a suspicion starting to burn in her eyes that made him uneasy.

"How," she began slowly, and very very carefully, "did you say you know Alec Hardy again?"

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Trembling, Alec leaned against the door, listening for the tell-tale sounds of when Miller and her company would move away. He swallowed hard, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as he clenched and unclenched his hands.

He couldn't deal with this. He'd dealt with enough over the past few months, he didn't need or want any more—especially not an old friend who he never wanted to see again. He didn't hate John, no, he never could _hate_ him…

But killing your own wife…

He suddenly felt twenty-five again, learning of Freya O'Bailey's murder. Having to arrest John for it. With it came the old sickening mix of anger and disgust, the utter confusion of why someone could willingly kill someone else.

Miller was finally gone; he was vaguely pleased to note that his reaction had garnered some suspicion. Now maybe John would tell her what he had done that had landed him in prison. Dear god, Miller didn't need to put up with any of this either, she'd had enough to deal with. Part of him in that moment wanted to call her back, drag her through the doorway and explain everything to her about his history with John O'Bailey and why the man was seeking him out now. But he had never been one to fly on whims of fancy and he merely stayed where he was, swallowing down his sudden panic.

Slamming that door had been the coward's way out, in several ways. Let Miller think it was merely his temper and being rude. But it had allowed him to escape answering her question.

When finally his heart rate leveled out to a manageable pace he pushed off the wall, walking unsteadily farther into his flat and trying to ignore the opened letters that were spread out on his small kitchen table.

Letters from the latest runs of tests.

'_Ah you bloody doctors. It's always, 'Do as I say or you'll end up dead'.'_

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John hesitated telling her anything, but eventually realized he owed her the explanation. He had made Alec go off on her. "I didn't think he'd be like that," he said quietly, nursing a coffee.

She snorted. "He's been like that since I've known him. Honestly, it's riding through his fits that's easy now."

John managed a grin. "He always did have a temper on him."

Ellie suddenly straightened. "Paul!"

Surprised by the sudden change in conversation, John frowned, looking over his shoulder and found a young blonde-haired man walking into the small café they had taken refuge in. He was wearing the collar of a vicar, kept visible above the open lapels of his blue coat. Spotting Ellie, he stopped by their table with a warm, if tired, smile.

"Ellie. I'm glad to see you still here."

She smiled weakly. "Yeah. Ah, have you met John?" She gestured to her company nervously, her fingers still on her cup clenching slightly. "He's just come in from Scotland."

John stood. "John O'Bailey. Pleasure."

"Likewise." The vicar shook his proffered hand. "Paul Coates." He looked back at Ellie, a wry grin twitching at his mouth. "So, we have another Scot then. Hope you enjoy your stay, Mr. O'Bailey." He gave Ellie a little bow. "I hope to see you in church again, Ellie. It's a pleasure having you and your boys there."

"We'll try, Paul." Ellie took a drink of her coffee. "How is the insomnia?"

Paul spread his hands a little, helplessly. "The same. The Lord must think I need more time to read His word." His dry sarcasm made John grin behind his hand. "Well, I'll leave you two to your drinks. I'll see you later."

Paul left, and John turned to Ellie with a raised brow. "_Still_ here?"

Ellie paused, fingers ticking restlessly now. For a long moment she didn't say anything, but then finally she sighed. "There's something about myself I haven't mentioned yet…"


	3. Chapter 3

"_**Chapter 3"**_

Quietly as possible Ellie opened the front door of her house, holding it open for John. With a nod of thanks he stepped through, shaking the water from his hair as he went. It was now late afternoon and the skies had decided to let loose, a heavy chilling downpour that signified that winter was on their doorstep. Ellie looked behind her out at the abandoned street and shut the door behind her.

Tom was seated at the kitchen table finishing his homework, and stiffened when seeing the strange man who entered the room ahead of his mother. "Who're you?"

"Tom!" Ellie stopped where she was, appalled. "I did teach you manners!"

He blushed, chagrined. "Sorry," he mumbled, swallowing nervously. His pencil went tap-tap against his paper before he managed to gain enough courage to look back up.

Ellie removed her coat. "This is John, Tom," she said. "John, this is my oldest. Tom."

John grinned in his friendliest manner and extended a hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Tom."

The boy simply looked at him suspiciously. Ellie sighed, wondering what she'd been thinking by allowing John to come home with her. He had nowhere to go at the moment, no hotel room set up, and when it started to rain Ellie had invited him to her home to wait the weather out. She would go with him to the Traders and talk with Becca Fisher. Maybe it was simply the fact that she had told him her story, about Danny Latimer's murder and the following weeks of investigation and her husband's involvement, and he had not looked at her with the accusing or disturbed stares others had given her. Alec, John, and Paul were the few who did not. They were the few who actually believed she had had no knowledge of Joe's actions.

It hurt, being on the receiving end of so much ridicule and slander. She wondered sometimes, half-asleep and drifting in thought, if this was what Alec had faced after the disastrous Sandbrook case. She knew she would never ask him.

"Go ahead and have a seat in the living room, John," she said quietly. "I'll just have a word with Tom." She could hear Fred stirring where he was in his playpen hearing his mother. He would want something to eat soon.

She waited until her guest had left before she seated herself across from her son. "Tom, sweetheart—"

"Are you replacing Dad?" he asked roughly, interrupting her before she could start.

She was too shocked to be angry; she could only stare at him in dumbstruck horror for a moment before she was able to answer. "No. God, no, Tom, I would never—" She swallowed down a sudden wave of tears, thoroughly shaken by his question. Did he really think so little of her? "John simply doesn't have anywhere to go for the moment. I couldn't leave him out in the rain, now, could I?"

He seemed to realize too late the mistake he'd made. He looked back down at his paper, as vulnerable now as he'd been wary a few seconds before. "It's just… you don't bring strange men to our house…"

Tom was too young to worry about this sort of stuff. Ellie felt her heart clench realizing just how much Tom had grown in the past few months. She reached and grabbed his hands in her own. "Tom, there is nothing going on. Nothing at all. John is here just for a couple hours, then he'll be on his way."

Her words reassured him a bit. He nervously tapped his paper again. "Guess I should apologize to him," he mumbled. Ellie nodded silently. She remained where she was as he stood and went into the living room, stirring only when she heard Fred calling for her.

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Alec waited until his normal time to go for a walk although he had been full of nervous energy all day. It had taken all he had to not walk in circles around the flat and wear himself out. The rain had helped stave off his urge to leave, finally stopping about an hour after it had begun. He put his coat on and left, looking to see that there would be no one on the street who would want to talk to him first.

Today, he didn't think about where he would go, still thinking about Miller's visit earlier that morning. Now that he had calmed he felt a bit sorry that he had slammed the door on her, and was tempted to give her a ring to apologize, but ultimately decided that he simply didn't want her company tonight.

Inexplicably his wayward footsteps took him to the last place he expected and wanted to be—St. Andrews. The doors of the ancient church hung open in silent invitation, calling passing people into its sanctuary.

Alec snorted. If there was one thing a church did not offer, it was_ sanctuary_. He sighed—his feet had led him here. Might as well see why.

The doors led almost straight into the main sanctorum, as wide and yawning as ever; the vicar, however, was nowhere in sight. Slowly he made his way down the inner aisle between the pews, chewing at the inside of his cheek. It was simply strange to be in a church, any church at all; it took all he had not to sneer up at the altar, or the massive stain-glass window depicting Christ's ascension.

_People call You loving. I think You're just cruel._

"Can I help you?"

Paul Coates's voice made him turn; the vicar was near his office door, clearly having heard Alec's footsteps. For a moment Paul allowed his surprise to show seeing him there but very quickly schooled his expression into polite inquiry. "Is everything alright?"

Alec nearly barked a biting laugh but managed to tamp down on it; instead he smiled, sharp as a knife, and it was answer enough. Paul frowned.

"Is it Ellie?"

Why would it be _Ellie_? Taken aback by the inquiry, Alec was silent for a long moment, deciding whether he should bother answering or not. Largely he had no wish to talk to Paul about anything, especially not about John; but likewise there was a small part of him, the part that had urged him to confess the truth about Sandbrook, that simply didn't want to keep it to himself anymore.

And Paul understood other peoples' problems, Alec had to begrudgingly admit.

"It's a friend." Well, that was decided for him. Very much like that night with Maggie and Olly at the _Echo_ his mouth had run away with him again. "An old friend,' he corrected himself automatically.

Paul nodded. "John O'Bailey, yes? I met him at the café with Ellie."

So very like Miller, to invite a stranger to tea. Alec nearly rolled his eyes but managed to restrain himself.

Paul spoke when he didn't. "Was a friend? What happened?"

"I arrested him." _There,_ he thought darkly. _Work out what to say to that._

It took a moment for the vicar to find words. "Well, it doesn't seem like he holds any ill-will against you if he's come here."

"He murdered his wife."

Paul blinked, taken aback; but with the confession he had an inkling of understanding. "And now you feel repelled by him." Thinking about it, it wasn't too surprising with Alec's job being to put away murderers.

"Shouldn't I be?" Alec retorted. "Aren't you Christians always the ones going on about '_thou shalt not murder'_?"

Paul nodded slowly, unable to deny it. "Yes, we are," he answered quietly. "But we also are taught to forgive those who_ ask_ to be forgiven."

"Easier said than done," Alec muttered darkly.

Paul heard him. "You know, Paul the Apostle was once a man named Saul. He was as anti-Christian as you could get, and made it his job to murder as many Christians as he could—"

"And then he was visited by God while on the road and he repented," Alec finished tiredly, unimpressed. He had heard his mother tell him that story several times. "I know."

Paul looked at him appraisingly. "I think you're hiding some Christian background yourself."

"Please." Alec shook his head, walking back down the aisle. He passed the vicar by without another word, but Paul's quiet words as he left nearly made him pause.

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, you know. Maybe your friend is here for a reason."

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Ellie was just leaving the Traders when she saw a familiar blue van pull up onto the opposite side of the street. Her stomach clenched. Luckily she was wearing a darker coat tonight and she could blend into the shadows a little bit better as she watched the door open and Mark Latimer stepped out. He barely looked in her direction, barely looked at the Traders at all, but that was fine with Ellie; she had no wish to be glared at.

She had seen very little of the Latimer family since Joe was arrested. Beth still would not forgive her, even though Ellie had sent her one message explaining everything. Mark, too, was still angry but if he did ever catch sight of Ellie he merely ignored her and went on his way.

She waited until he had gone into the building, clearly to fix some plumbing that had gone wrong, before she went on her way. For a moment she hesitated, unsure, and then she found herself going in the opposite direction of her house.

She was going to talk with Alec by herself. Maybe without John there he would listen to her.

When she knocked on his door, it took him a moment to answer. When he did the door opened much slower than it had that morning and he leaned tiredly against the doorframe. "Miller."

"Alec." She was silent for a moment, nervous, then spoke again. "Look, I just wanted to apologize about this morning. I didn't know about what John did, if I'd known I wouldn't have handled it like I did—"

"Just get inside, Miller," he interrupted her shortly, stepping aside so she could. When the door was closed again, however, he dropped whatever guard he'd had standing. He looked now exhausted and vulnerable. He spoke up before she could. "Don't apologize. You didn't know."

Ellie hesitated, then nodded slowly, recognizing his own apology in his words. Together they made their way to the small kitchen. He picked up an official-looking paper from the table and hastily stuck it folded into his pocket before turning to her again. "Tea?"

She hesitated, tempted for a moment to decline (she had only planned to apologize, after all) but she found herself speaking before she could. "Why not?" She seated herself at the table as he worked, silently taking the sight of him in. Definitely thinner than before. His crisp white shirt was rumpled like he'd taken a nap in it earlier. He had not touched his beard. His movements were just a little bit slower, a bit too careful.

"Are you okay?" She repeated her question from earlier.

He paused for a moment; his jaw clenched, working slightly. He turned to look at her. "No."

"Do you need to see a doctor?"

"No."

"Alec—"

He placed her cup of tea down with more force than was necessary. "I bloody well said _no_, Miller!"

But she had never been one to simply lay back and let him have a go at her. "I asked you a legitimate question, so do not bite my head off!" she retorted. "You look_ ill_, Alec, and you can't deny it! God, have you had _any_ recovery since the close of the case?"

He turned away, tight-lipped. It was all the answer she needed. She went silent, taking a sip of her tea. Slowly, groaning slightly as he did, he sat across from her. For a long moment they simply sat in silence, then Alec slowly looked over at her.

"Thank you for coming, Miller."

She set her cup down. "Yes, well, couldn't leave you here by yourself all the time, could I?" She was silent again for a moment. "John told me what he did."

He snorted, but there was no scorn in his eyes, only exhaustion. "Did he."

She nodded. "He misses you, sir. He wants to catch up."

He shook his head. "Miller, your husband killed somebody," he said quietly; not to hurt, but simply to make a point. "How is John any different?"

She hesitated. Shook her head again. "I… I don't know," she admitted. "But he doesn't… Joe was doing so many things that were wrong, not just his murdering Danny. John hasn't. He warned his wife not to do anything, and she did anyway. It doesn't make it right, what he did. But it makes it a little more understandable."

"Miller, I grew up with him. He was my best friend. I had dinner over at their home at least once a week." Alec shifted; his tea was untouched. She could tell it was costing him a lot to tell her this. "And then he killed her. Just killed her."

Ellie was very still for a moment. She thought she could understand both John and Alec, and their respective opinions. "He _is_ alone here, though, Alec."

He sighed—and surprised her when he gently laid his fingers on top of her own. "If everyone in the world had your heart, Miller…"


	4. Chapter 4

"_**Chapter 4"**_

A/N: This chapter will be more Alec and Ellie-centric this time. Just as an explanation for what will happen in this chapter: I personally write Alec and Ellie's relationship as a platonic one, so I blame the drink Ellie has that leads to her actions later on. I don't know yet whether this story will have any "official" pairings yet. (Alec/Ellie simply won't work for this story anyway.)

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Ellie met up with Alec a couple of days later, careful not to stop at the Traders. If John wanted to come find either of them then he was more than welcome to, but it would have to be when Alec wanted. Her talk with him had helped the other night, for both of them, but Alec's unspoken warning was to not push him. Still, at least Ellie was assured that he would eventually talk with John one-on-one.

She didn't know why she cared so much about the newly-arrived Scot, she really didn't. By all accounts she should have been repulsed by his very presence after he had told her the reason he'd been in jail. He had made a good impression on her, she supposed.

This morning they walked anywhere. Normally the two of them went to a specific place but today they simply were led by their feet. Naturally, their path led them by the ocean; not along the cliffs today, however, but along a tall sandy hill that was flitted through with brittle tufts of grass. The view was just as spectacular as on the cliffs, the people walking below at the town the size of ants and the water so far down it looked like they could step out onto it like a vast blue carpet.

Alec was not paying attention to his surroundings today, however; he looked down, watching the sand shifting beneath his feet with his head bowed. Ellie followed slowly behind him, wrapped in her bright orange coat once again, enjoying the feel of the sun and wind on her face. He was wearing his old jacket (like always) but had declined anything else, which made Ellie want to strangle him. For a very intelligent man he really was incredibly stupid.

"Did you get any sleep last night, sir?"

He was quiet for a long moment, then glanced back at her. "Did you?"

They both knew the unspoken answer for both of them. No. Alec had always had trouble sleeping, his job weighing down on the subconscious; and ever since that disastrous time with Danny's case Ellie had found it hard to sleep in her own bed. It felt wrong to be lying in the sheets she had shared with Joe, even as she sometimes felt like she was lying next to a gaping ravine where he should be that would swallow her whole.

He kept on walking, grim triumph in his silence that showed his point had been made. His breathing was heavier than normal. Ellie wanted to ask him again what was wrong, and whether he should see a doctor, but he had not been pleased hearing her questions the other night. He wasn't one to be pushed.

Together they watched the sun start to set, setting the water aflame with an array of reds and oranges. When finally the light changed they started back down, towards the lights of the town. Ellie spoke before she could stop herself.

"Would you like to get a drink with me?"

Startled, Alec turned to look at her. "What?"

"A drink," she repeated. "You know, just as two mates."

He hesitated, and she realized too late what he was thinking about—and with it came another thought several months late. "Oh god, that morning when you came into work… you'd been hurt. You had one of those episodes, didn't you? You passed out?" He didn't say anything but he didn't have to. She suddenly felt very guilty. "It was that wine you drank, wasn't it?"

He had tried to tell them, in his own bloody stubborn way.

'_I can't—'_

'_Shut up and drink.'_

"Not your fault," he finally muttered now. "I didn't pace myself. I knew better."

She sighed. "Never mind, then," she said. "I'll get that drink. You can just make sure I don't turn into a swaggering drunken mess."

That garnered a small grin; clearly he was imagining her as said swaggering-drunken-mess. "I'll try my best."

She bought a bottle of wine. She ignored Alec's raised eyebrow and waited until they settled on a place to go (her home, in case she did in fact become very drunk) to open it. Olly was watching her boys for the night, so they were alone.

For an hour they sat in near silence, as Ellie grabbed a glass and filled it. Even after all these months, awkward silence seemed their favorite companion at times. Alec watched her slow progress with the bottle silently, until finally he reached over and grabbed hold of it, pulling it out of her reach.

"I think you've had enough of that, Miller."

She heard the warning note in his voice; drunk, or very well near it, she didn't hear the concern. The wine had been so good, and the pleasant warmth that had come with it was so lovely she was loath to listen. She hadn't felt this laid-back and satisfied in a very long time. Even Joe seemed a distant worry. She smiled lazily at him. "Going to have some yourself?"

He raised one eyebrow in response, almost scathing. "If I wanted to kill myself, yeah."

"To be or not to be…" She couldn't remember the rest of the saying and trailed off, wondering if maybe those words rang more true than she had originally thought.

"Now I_ know_ you're soused if you're quoting Shakespeare." He placed the bottle on the coffee table and gazed at it with distaste before looking quietly at her for a moment. He didn't like seeing her this way, so mellowed out by drink and lounging on the couch. "You know this isn't going to make you feel any better."

His concern fell on deaf ears. She looked at him in irritation. "I think it does," she retorted. "Don't tell me you never turned to drink after you failed Sandbrook."

The jab at his failed case should have made him angry, but he was too concerned for her—frightened, even, because he had never liked drinking and it disturbed him knowing that this time it was Miller who was drunk. He shook his head mutely.

"What was it, then?" she demanded, suddenly becoming irritated herself. She sat up straighter, moving closer to him. "Drugs? Sex?"

Spurred on by drink she did the one thing she had never thought she'd do; she reached for him, wanting to touch him, maybe even go so far as to kiss him just to see what he'd do—and then his cold fingers suddenly closed around her wrist, stopping her short.

"No," he said, and his voice was suddenly very nearly a growl; a warning.

"Afraid, are you?" she challenged him, moving even closer. The wine had given her courage—otherwise she would have heeded the growing irritation in his eyes.

He didn't back away, merely grabbed her wrist in an even tighter hold and thrusted it down. "Miller, you're drunk," he said coldly and stood.

She abruptly felt anger bloom in her gut, furious at his rejection. "Not good enough for you, am I?" she snapped. "Nothing's good enough for you, you bastard—" She found herself suddenly on her feet, old pent-up resentment overflowing its dam. She pushed him hard in the chest, backing him up a step. "Nothing makes you happy, no one's good enough—you dragged me down all through the case—so tell me—_what is wrong with me_?!"

He had not moved a muscle, had not raised a hand against her; his jaw clenched, but he had simply let her speak. He felt no such kind of attraction towards her, and he was completely sure that, sober, she didn't either. "You're still married."

Finally he had left her speechless—not from anger, which had happened before—but from simply being taken aback. She had never thought he would answer with something like that, and now he was watching her silently watching her, waiting for her to talk herself out. A familiar tactic she recalled from the tense days following Danny's murder. Had his eyes been sad like they were now, had they—like now—asked '_do you think so little of me?'_

She realized with a sobering pang that she didn't know.

She let her hand drop to her side and stepped back into the couch, away from him. "What am I doing?" she asked numbly, balling her shaking hands into fists. "What am I doing?"

Slowly he sat down beside her, sensing it was safe again. "Grieving," he answered simply.

The quiet, understanding reply broke what little control she had left. Burying her head in her hands she broke down and cried.

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With a start Ellie jerked awake. Blinking in the dark, she very quickly realized two things: one, intoxication was very quickly turning into one hell of a hangover; and second it had somehow become late night—one thirty-three, if the clock was right.

Sitting up straight—how had she ended up lying on the couch?—she felt a warm light weight on her legs and discovered that her shoes had been removed and a blanket thrown over her. Looking around in confusion, however, very quickly solved the mystery. Her expression softened.

Alec was sleeping in the armchair by the sofa; clearly he had not wanted to leave her by herself and had been keeping vigil before succumbing to sleep himself. Ellie could remember nothing following her breakdown but regardless she felt her heart warm. It couldn't be denied that Alec Hardy was brusque and rude and definitely a stubborn ass—but it was the little things that showed her what he was really like beneath it all.

Quietly she looked at him. She had never seen Alec resting, and him being unconscious at the hospital didn't count. While awake there was always something in his expression moving. Something exhausted and old.

But asleep he looked young. Nothing tense there in his face, no stress or irritation. She marveled at the change and was sorely tempted for a moment to take a picture of him sleeping like this, but really it was still so very comfortable on the couch, and the blanket was warm, so she laid back down and drew the blanket up to her chin, curling up again.

The soft cloth still smelled heavily of Joe—but for the first time since that awful day she found she really didn't mind it.


	5. Chapter 5

"_**Chapter 5"**_

A/N: And here's where it all starts to go downhill.

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When Ellie woke next it was late morning and the sun was shining through the curtains. Struggling with the blanket that had somehow become entangled around her legs, she staggered to her feet. Her back cracked as she stretched.

Then the headache hit her. Change in position had clearly kicked it into full blown gear and her strangled ''bloody hell' was merely a groan. Her head was pounding, her mouth tasted brown, and her stomach was roiling.

She would have smashed the near-empty wine bottle to the floor but Alec was still sleeping soundly where she could fuzzily recall seeing him before. As much as she wanted to make her displeasure known, she was loathe to wake him. Instead she made her slow painful way to the kitchen where she filled herself a glass of water and swallowed two ibuprofen; dehydration, that was the killer with drinking. Hoping the water would help with her hangover she dumped the rest of the wine down the drain and threw the bottle in recycling.

She leaned heavily against the counter, gazing down at the snaking rivulets of red liquid resting in the bottom of the sink, and let out an explosive sigh. She rubbed her face wearily. What had gotten _into_ her last night? She never drank like that, never ever turned to drink to settle her problems.

Oh dear god, Alec had seen her like that. As much as she was glad that he had been there to stop her while she was ahead she felt equally ashamed that she'd allowed him to see her sink so low. What must he think of her now?

But then she snorted. He had already seen her at her worst when she'd been screaming and sobbing after Joe's confession. What would getting drunk change? He had stayed, after all, rather than leave in the middle of the night. She must not have scared him too badly.

She placed the now-empty glass in the sink and turned. "Bloody hell!"

Alec was standing quietly in the doorway of the kitchen, a suspiciously satisfied grin playing on his face when seeing her reaction. The night of rest had done him good; his face wasn't quite as worn, his eyes not as shadowed. Color was finally returning to his skin. His shirt was wrinkled from sleeping and his hair was wilder than normal. "Scare easily, Miller?" he asked innocently.

On reflex she called him something rude and threw a wadded-up dishtowel at him. Equally on reflex he caught it before it could hit him in the face, and abruptly in the stunned silence he started to laugh. After gaping wide-eyed at what she'd just done, she joined in.

"Ow," she gasped after a particularly fierce throb of pain shook her head. The suddenly new-found humor had not quite passed, however, and she was loathe to let it go. She mock-glared at him. "What happened to stopping me _before_ I became a swaggering drunken mess?"

He smirked. "You weren't swaggering yet."

She rolled her eyes. "What happened to that towel…?"

He raised his fist, one corner of said dishcloth hanging from it. "_This_ towel?" His grin, foreign as it was, was downright evil. She realized belatedly that he was somehow an expert at kitchen battles and managed to grab hold of a second towel just in time.

Fifteen minutes later they were seated back in the living room, nursing cups of tea (and their shirts damp from the dishtowel/water fight that had somehow happened). Ellie was silent for a long moment; then she abruptly turned to Alec. "Do you think I should go see him?"

He didn't have to ask who she meant. He didn't quite look at her. "I don't know. Will you go ballistic on him again?"

She did not rise to the bait of his jab; she felt little shame at going full-out on Joe, even if it reflected badly on her as both a person and a cop. "I just feel so—trapped," she confessed. "Maybe if I go see him once he'll stop asking for me."

"So that you can tell yourself you've done what you needed to do and never think of it again." Now he looked at her. His expression was carefully neutral, but Ellie thought she knew what he was thinking. "It won't work, Miller," he told her flatly. "Joe is not your responsibility. When are you going to stop thinking that he is?"

She shifted to look at him, trying not to show how hurt she was. "Why wouldn't he be my responsibility? I let him get away with murder!"

"That was his choice," he retorted sharply, more sharply than she'd ever heard him before. "He chose to hang out with an eleven-year-old boy for hugs and God knows what else—"

"He did nothing else, we know that!"

"Doesn't mean he wouldn't have," he said, echoing what he had told her months ago, but this time it was said without the quiet calm he'd had before. This time he was almost vindictive. "He told me straight up, Miller—'I was in love with him'. Doesn't matter if he hadn't touched Danny then; a phedo always starts with that sentence."

Ellie slumped. She had heard the damnable confession for herself, there was no doubt that Joe was entirely guilty, a despicable excuse for a human being, but her heart still refused to let him go completely. On all levels she shouldn't want to see him at all.

But that didn't change the fact that she _did_.

And that made her angry. She glared at Alec. "So you automatically tell me not to go see my husband simply because he's a potential pedophile?" she snapped, fingers clenching around her mug.

"Yes." The answer was blunt; his hackles were raised, responding to her tone. Neither of them held their tempers well. Her headache throbbed slightly again, only adding to her sense of quickly-rising fury.

"I need some closure. He took so much away, I need to know why!"

"There is no knowing _why_, Miller! He did it, it's done, and there's nothing you can do!"

She leaped to her feet, placing the mug on the table. Tea sloshed over the rim, scalding her hand. She cursed. "Drawing from personal experience, are we?" she snarled. "Going to finally tell your old friend to bugger off, then? You clearly don't want to hang out with a murderer!"

"Do not bring John into this!" He was on his feet as well; they stood several feet apart, the coffee table separating them. "That has nothing to do with anything!"

"Oh, I think it does!" Ellie retorted, in no mood to back off. Where had all this anger come from? "You refuse to listen to any opinion about murder because you've been betrayed by your best friend!" She clenched her shaking hands into fists, suddenly blinking back tears. "If that's how you feel about it then you should just leave! Can't have a murderer's wife disgusting you!"

"If this is how you feel then Beth was right to stay away from you!"

He had gone too far. The words had barely left his mouth before he realized what he'd said, and he immediately backed away a step, shame and horror flitting across his face. Ellie had flinched as if slapped, white, looking at him like she had never seen him before. She blinked, and a tear slipped silently down her cheek.

"Leave." Her voice was hollow.

He made as if to move closer, to stretch out a hand. "Miller—"

"Just go."

She had not moved a muscle, had not even raised her voice, but it was Alec this time who flinched back and retreated. Within seconds he had grabbed his coat and the door was slamming shut. Ellie was left with silence, a mess of spilled tea, and a whole different kind of betrayal making her chest ache.


	6. Chapter 6

"_**Chapter 6"**_

A/N: And here it's going to get ugly. Just remember that Alec's not in a good place right now, so please don't get too angry. And don't hate me because of the ending of the chapter!

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This type of guilt was different. That was the one thought that stuck in Alec's mind as he walked. _This type of guilt was different._ Not the crushing shame of failing a murdered child and their family, this was nothing like letting a killer walk free. It wasn't even like finding out what his wife had done to their marriage, sleeping with another man like she had, and wondering what he had done wrong to drive her away.

This guilt, roiling and hot, nearly made him sick. He had not felt the need to vomit in years, but he was certainly feeling it now as he made his way down the road.

This was a guilt he knew he had completely and utterly caused. He hadn't known his sense of self-loathing could grow anymore but it had.

Why the _hell_ had he said that to Miller? If anyone knew how much Beth's hateful rejection had hurt her, it was Alec himself. He had seen her crumble to pieces following Joe's confession and had silently witnessed her weariness and listlessness as more and more of her life fell apart. He had helped her as best he could, which was not very much at all honestly, but always made sure he was there if she absolutely needed him.

He understood the need for stability. Without it you drove yourself insane.

But he hated the fact that her stability depended on a snarky, anti-social retired detective inspector. Where had all of her old friends gone, why had they simply abandoned her? He was not someone Miller should have turned to, there was nothing he could do to fix her brokenness.

He had only made it worse, now. He had destroyed her all over again.

Everything was a blur, a mess of color and sound, sliding over him like water. He had no sense of where he was or what he was doing, and barely registered the fact that somehow his feet had led him to a familiar place: the Traders hotel. He hadn't set foot in the hotel itself for several weeks, ever since he had finally moved out of the room he'd been in during the case of Danny Latimer, and had been perfectly keen with keeping it that way.

But now he remembered Miller telling him one thing: _John was staying at the Traders_.

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John O'Bailey, for his part, had mainly kept to himself the past few days. He avoided going out too much (ignoring the fact that he was in reality afraid of stumbling into his old friend) and so had spent much of his time in his hotel room or walking bits of town. He had been tempted to call or message Ellie again, but she had other things to worry about; and he could tell that she was already busy with being there for Alec.

He had never expected to see Alec the way he was now. Not this short-tempered, unkempt mess who snarled at everyone and clearly had no love for company. As teenagers he had always known that Alec was anti-social, but he'd never been rude or mean. John wondered what had happened while he'd been in jail to make his old friend this way.

He was just preparing to leave his room for a late breakfast when he suddenly heard Becca Fisher's raised voice, shouting at someone. Loud, heavy footsteps were coming up the stairs and along the hall, nearly drowning her out, but John could tell she was trying to stop someone. He realized almost too late who it could be and braced himself, cursing silently that he had not locked the door since leaving earlier—

And then the door slammed open, and he was suddenly facing a very angry Alec Hardy. The look on his face very nearly made John's ice run cold, remembering vividly what that look meant when worn by a very different person. He stood hastily, wondering what had happened.

"Why the _hell_ did you come to Broadchurch?" Alec snarled.

John blinked, taken aback. Of all the things to say he hadn't been expecting that. "Can't come check up on my friend, then?"

"Not when you have family back home!" Alec stepped closer, past the opened door. "You don't just go looking for a friend who's left the country entirely!" His hands were clenched into fists, John noticed—maybe to hide their shaking. His voice, as he continued, was steady. "So what's happened?"

John was prepared to make Alec fight to get his answer, but suddenly found he simply didn't want to. He didn't want to have this confrontation. "They've kicked me out," he admitted quietly, starkly contrasted to Alec's furious state. "Parents have all but disowned me."

"Can't have a son who broke one of the Commandments," Alec sneered, sharp as a knife. "Were they disappointed that their altar boy became a murderer?"

John stiffened despite himself, stung by the accusation. "Don't you dare," he warned. "My parents took you in while we were growing up. Don't you dare judge them!"

"You did it to yourself!" They were shouting now. "You decided to kill your wife and now you expect me to welcome you back with _open_ _arms_?"

"I expected you to still have some respect for our friendship!"

"_Respect_? You lost any respect I had for you when you killed Freya! And now you come back and you destroy everything again!"

"Again?" John stared at him incredulously, almost unable to understand—and then it clicked. That wasn't just anger fueling Alec's bite—he recognized the old sense of self-loathing from years before, from when he had said or done something that had done damage.

Only that old feeling was fueled by years' worth of bitterness now. Without trying Alec could do a whole lot more damage than before.

His own sense of anger did not allow him to respond sympathetically. "Whose life did you destroy this time, then?" he asked snidely. "Ellie's? Just like you, to hurt your friends."

"If they were friends to begin with!" came Alec's equally-snide retort. "You come along and fill Miller's head with sympathy for killers, make her think it's alright to forgive her husband for what he did!"

John barked out a biting laugh. "Please! I only saw her for a day! I barely know her."

"And she thinks she knows you!"

"And you think _you_ do?" John stepped closer now. "You think you know what it was like for me these past fifteen years in a jail cell? You think you know who I am anymore? Take your head out of your arse and look around you!" He pointed a finger like a javelin at his old friend, shaking with anger. "You know who you're acting like right now?" he demanded. Alec suddenly stilled, as John had known he would, stopped in his tracks. "You know who you _sound_ like?"

"Don't," Alec ordered without voice, very pale.

But John was in no mood to stop. He knew how the accusation would hurt but plunged ahead anyway, letting a little of his disgust curl his lip. "Your _dad_, that's who, just before he took a belt to beat you with it!"

It was a familiar topic he remembered from before his arrest. The infamous ill-tempered Lucas Hardy had been the reason why Alec had spent so many nights at the O'Bailey's household, usually sporting some type of bruising on the face or the arms or the back, faintly smelling of his father's heavy whiskey. It was well known that Lucas was not a man to cross or stand up to, and Alec had always sworn he would never turn out like his father in either temperament or actions.

And to John, this was the wake-up call Alec needed. Because he was very much like his father in several aspects.

Alec, for his part, was not so blinded as to miss the irony of this situation with the one he'd left with Miller. He wondered fleetingly for a moment if her world had seemed to shrink when hearing the accusation he had thrown at her, if a roaring had taken over her senses; he felt rooted to the floor, a tight knot of emotions so tumultuous he wasn't sure he could keep contained roiling deep in his gut. _A chalice of despair and horror_, he recalled dimly, reciting from a book he had read several years ago. That was what he felt like now.

And that was when his heart lurched, a familiar sensation in his chest. He froze, taken aback by its suddenness—but then it didn't stop. Normally with this his heart fluttered for a few seconds before sickeningly stabilizing again but it didn't now.

Panicked he lurched forward, his hand unconsciously pressing at his chest, feeling for his heartbeat. It was too fast, too faint. All it felt like was a terrible fluttering that only grew in intensity, building faster and harsher every second—and it _wasn't stopping_.

He heard John calling out in alarm but he hardly cared. It was like a repeat of the night on Briar Cliff, unable to stand or call out, conscious only of the fact that he _couldn't breathe_.

_Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh _god

His vision was blurring, faint, starting to blacken. His heart was still jumping, unable to level out, and felt full-out panic overtaking everything.

Hands, rough in their fear, helped him to the floor. A glint of blonde hair caught his attention for a second—Becca, a tiny part of him realized, speaking into a phone. John's terrified face swam into view, calling to him. He wondered if the terror in his eyes mirrored his own as he sank into velvety blackness, his last thought a plea.

_Help me._

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Ellie had shattered a picture frame. Its sad ruins twinkled softly in the sunlight falling through the window, the picture itself torn from the glass. Joe's face was nearly unrecognizable from the damage. Huddled into a ball by the couch, Ellie looked at it silently, distrustfully, hatefully.

Maybe if she simply sat here it would all go away. Maybe if she shut out the world long enough none of this would have happened. Maybe… maybe…

Her phone buzzed. Startled, she jumped and wondered where she had left it. Oh, that's right, in her coat pocket—currently hallway across the room.

The world wasn't allowing her to ignore it.

She fought it. For five more rings she ignored it, and it finally stopped, leaving her blessed silence once again—and two seconds later it started to buzz again. Was it more insistent than before?

Cursing, she staggered to her feet and jerked it into view, not even pausing to see who it was. There was only one person, after all, who would be calling her.

"I am not talking to you right now, Alec, so you can _bloody well_ stop—"

"Ellie."

She froze, startled. "_John_?" She had given him her number, of course, in case he did need something but she hadn't really thought he'd use it. "What—?"

"You need to get to the hospital," he said bluntly.

Her heart clenched. Her fingers tightened on the phone, and she had to swallow hard before she could speak again. "Who?"

His voice was tight, suppressing emotions she was sure he did not want her to hear. "It's Alec. He's had a heart attack. The doctors don't know if he'll make it."


	7. Chapter 7

"_**Chapter 7"**_

A/N: Beth's mom's family story in this chapter may seem like a copy of Susan Wright's story, but I swear it's not. It's a true story once again.

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Mark Latimer was just pulling onto a side street, heading for home after fixing a burst pipe, when he passed Ellie Miller's car going in the opposite direction. Curious (she rarely ever drove with such speed, after all) he looked after her for a moment. She was turning left. He frowned. Turning left meant only a few different places in the town: only the police station and the hospital, and she would only be speeding for one of those things.

He hadn't spoken with Ellie ever since that day of Joe Miller's confession. He had known, like Beth had, that she had watched them light the beacon for Danny but they had both shunned her. Ellie had tried to reach out to them both, in her own way, but it had been Beth who shoved her away. Of course, Mark had been too filled with his own sense of fury to think clearly and had wholeheartedly agreed that they should have nothing to do with the Miller family.

But now the fury was waning, dying away to nothing, and he found sometimes that he missed Ellie; missed her easy-going company, missed their Sunday brunches together (something Chloe used to say was their 'second breakfast', whatever the hell that meant). Joe's betrayal had torn them apart better than anything else could have.

Watching her, Mark began to wonder if maybe Beth's fury was finally waning, too. The big clue was Ellie's number was still in Beth's phone, something he had stumbled across by accident a couple of weeks ago.

That was why this day he finally brought up their old friend's name. "Passed Ellie on the way here," he said quietly. He had kissed Beth in greeting after setting his coat down, and was now placing his shoes by the door.

Beth was back in the kitchen, preparing for an early dinner, and stiffened when hearing her old friend's name. "Did you," she said flatly.

Well, at least she wasn't telling him to shut up. Mark nodded and leaned against the doorway. Chloe was up in her room, hopefully finishing her homework. "Heading for the hospital, I think."

Beth's long fingers paused, holding her knife aloft. "What did she do this time, put Fred in danger?" she asked snidely.

"Beth…" Mark pushed off of the doorway, running a hand through his hair. He needed to get it cut. "Can you just—please, don't say stuff like that."

"She didn't seem to have any problem putting her boys in danger before," Beth argued, turning to look at him. "Why wouldn't she now?"

"Maybe because she didn't know about—_that_." He was speaking quietly, as softly as he could, because if one thing counseling had taught him it was that Beth listened better without anger or shouting. It was still too hard to mention out loud what that bastard had been doing with Danny.

'She _had to_ have known." Beth turned back to the sink and started cutting potatoes with more force than before. But the denial wasn't said quite as vehemently as before.

Mark came up behind her. "It wasn't like your mum's brother," he said, and then winced when he saw Beth's fingers suddenly tighten on the knife. It was a point that he had been thinking about for several weeks now, that old skeleton in Beth's family's closet. There was a reason, after all, why Chloe and Danny didn't even know that their grandma_ had_ a brother.

"My _aunt_, you mean," she growled spitefully, "sitting at home allowing her husband to have sex with their oldest girl."

"And she was home all the time," Mark reminded her. "She definitely knew and did nothing about it."

"What of it?" Beth demanded.

Mark took a breath. Sometimes it was extremely draining arguing with Beth when she was like this. "So look at Ellie, Beth. No, don't say anything, just think about it. What was Ell doing during the case?"

Beth was silent for a long moment, jaw working and anger smoldering in her dark eyes. "Working on finding Danny's killer," she finally said.

"And you know she was never home."

Something dropped in her expression; a little of her defiance slipped away. Her denial, however, was not going to drop without a fight. "She should have known that he was up to something," she argued. "How could she not tell that her own husband was meeting with Danny?"

"How did we not notice what Danny was doing?"

There it was. The sentence that was his counter-offense. It was the one thing that lay unspoken between them, all through these months of grieving and counseling and piecing their lives back together; that horrible guilt that pressed down on them both, making them wonder how they had not seen a change in their youngest child. Because when they really sat down and looked at the entire situation, they wondered if Danny's death was somehow their fault.

With the accusation finally in the open, it seemed to snap whatever control Beth had. She seemed to sag, the whole weight of the world falling on her shoulders, and finally _finally_ she started to cry again.

Following Danny's funeral she had bottled all of her tears and anger up, refusing to allow herself a time to cry and release everything that had built up. Mark had done the same, but had finally started to realize that that was dangerous. Without that release, as awful as it felt, all of the poison of their emotions started to kill them.

His own heart breaking, Mark pulled his shuddering wife into his arms, resting his cheek in her hair. His arms were shaking, but he only gripped her tighter, the swell of her stomach pressed between them. She was very pregnant.

The sun started to set. Still they stood, united in their grief: both at the reminding of what they'd lost, and at the ruined friendship that hung over them both.

"Mum? Dad?"

Chloe's voice broke them apart, wiping their tears away from flushed faces with shaking hands. Their daughter did not mention their looks at all, knowing what she had walked into; she had heard their conversation.

Danny's death had taught her strength. Strength to speak up—even against—her parents and others when she thought they were going astray.

"Ellie misses you, Mum," she said now, quietly. She was soft and quiet in the dim light, but earnest. She swallowed, nervously shifting on her feet. "And I know you miss her."

Beth was outnumbered, and her resolve was crumbling. The atmosphere had shifted in the house, and suddenly she dared a shaky smile. She walked over to her daughter and brushed a strand of soft blonde hair. "Older than you are, Chloe. That what I'd told you."

0000000

The hospital was quiet when Ellie found her way in. It was evening now, and it seemed like everything had settled down for the most part.

John was sitting, pale, in a side hallway outside a room near (but not in) the ICU. It seemed that he had not moved at all for a long time because when he turned at the sound of her footsteps he grimaced and his back cracked.

"What happened?" she demanded.

John shook his head helplessly. "He came to my hotel room. You two had a fight?" He looked at her and sighed when she nodded. "He accused me and… we argued. And then suddenly he collapsed. Becca called an ambulance and he was rushed here." His voice was strained, and suddenly he sat forward to rest his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face tiredly. "God. Never thought I'd see something like that. Especially not…"

_Not a friend._ If Alec and John even were still friends. Ellie silently cursed Alec's customary lashing out at others but took a seat. They sat in awful silence for what seemed like forever—and finally a doctor came into view. Ellie swallowed and John straightened, waiting. The man's face was grim, and despite her anger Ellie's stomach tightened.

"John O'Bailey?" the doctor asked, stopping in front of them.

John nodded. "Aye." Apparently unable to wait he fidgeted nervously for a moment before finally speaking, "Please, sir, what—?"

"You were lucky you were there," the doctor interrupted softly. "If you had not it would be likely your friend would have been dead in minutes. Mr. Hardy had a severe heart attack, as I'm sure you were told earlier."

"But he's alright now?" Ellie demanded.

The doctor looked at her. His grim expression had not shifted. "You were the one with him a few months ago, were you not?" At her nod, he shifted on his feet. "He has a heart condition, as you already know. Heart arrhythmia. Normally, such a heart problem is not severe. In fact, most people normally have an episode of it every day. Nothing bad, and you don't even notice. But there are times that it can become dangerous. A previous heart problem, or an illness, can be its cause. We're not sure the exact type of heart arrhythmia Mr. Hardy has, but it was much more severe than we initially thought." He sighed, suddenly looking weary, and Ellie felt her stomach drop. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do to help him."

Stunned silence. Both John and Ellie looked up at the solemn-eyed doctor, unable to comprehend. Her hands twisting in her lap, Ellie sat forward. "And—what does that mean?" she managed to ask.

He looked down at her in sympathy, knowing what his words were causing. "It means," he said quietly, "that it's only a matter of time now."

Her lips felt numb. Her entire body felt numb. "But—the pacemaker surgery—"

"Would be 100 percent fatal," the doctor said gently. He looked between them quietly for a moment. "He's had two major heart attacks in the space of a few months. He's run his body ragged, and today was the last straw for it." He motioned to the door. "He's stabilized. You can go and see him."

0000000

John went to see him first. Ellie stayed where she was seated in the hallway, staring at the opposite wall feeling very small and very very lost. Her coat was probably going to tear from the way she was twisting it in her lap, but she didn't notice. She could only think of the doctor's finalizing words.

_Dying. He's dying._

When John finally emerged she barely noticed his red eyes, and hesitated at the door, suddenly afraid. She hated hospitals, she hated seeing people in hospitals. But finally she kicked herself; she had seen this already, had already seen Alec following a heart attack. Why was she having so much trouble now?

She opened the door and was hit by the normal white walls and antiseptic spray that every hospital had. The lights were dimly lit, casting everything into soft shadow. The bed, however, had all of her attention. Monitors beeped and hummed all around all its sides, counting out heart beats and other vitals that seemed much too irregular for a human body. In the awful yawning blandness of everything it was only Alec's hair that stood out; his skin was white and waxy, a thin sheen of sweat painted across his face. He was hooked up to oxygen, but even with its help he seemed to be struggling to breathe.

Ellie swallowed hard, wondering why it was that the two of them could never be normal human beings. They always seemed to bicker and fight, always opened wounds with their words that always left their conversations on a bad note. That left them bleeding and raw. Alec's final words to her still sat heavily between them, still made her heart burn, but suddenly she found herself praying to a god she didn't believe in for him to wake up.

They couldn't leave things like this. Not now.

She reached out and grabbed hold of his hand, gently rubbing her thumb over the rough skin of his palm. "If you die, I'll kill you myself," she whispered. A tear fell silently on their intertwined hands.

0000000

A/N: My heart broke while writing this. It really really did, and I'm really really sorry.


	8. Chapter 8

"_**Chapter 8"**_

It was the next day before Beth decided to try to contact Ellie. It had been so long since she had even talked aloud about her old friend that she was afraid now that maybe, just maybe, Ellie's naturally forgiving heart had hardened towards her. Nonetheless, Beth kicked herself into action. She had never been one to simply sit and do nothing; action, that was what she understood and it was what kept her sane.

Ellie's number flashed brightly on the screen of her phone. She sighed. She had never deleted the number, although she'd been tempted to several times, which was what was confusing her now. _Why_ hadn't she deleted it?

She tapped the call button before she could lose her nerve. Before she could be tempted to throw the phone across the room and watch in satisfaction as it shattered against the wall.

The phone rang three times before it picked up, and even then there was a slight hesitation on the other end. Finally, though: "Beth?"

Ellie's voice was rough and tired, clearly from a lack of sleep; Beth thought she heard the sound of a man speaking in the background, Scottish, so she quickly focused again only on her old friend. "Ellie." She swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say or what to do. "I, um—I… Mark and Chloe, they, uh, finally talked some sense into me last night…" Silence on the other end. "Ellie?"

"I'm still here." Her voice was flat; not from anger, Beth hoped.

"Well, I'm just calling because I- I want to apologize to you. And the boys. Properly, I mean, not just over the phone, yeah? So—"

"I'll be home in about five hours," Ellie interrupted, still in that awful flat voice. She sounded like she was struggling with sudden tears. "I'll give you a ring when I get there, and you can come over." And then she hung up without another word.

Astonished, Beth looked down at the phone in her hand. Ellie had never hung up on her before. It couldn't have been what she had said, could it? She was seized by the fear that maybe it was too late to make amends; maybe Ellie had had enough of Beth's hatred of her.

But if that was the case, why was it it sounded like Ellie had been crying before she'd answered her phone?

0000000

John had left to find some coffee, feeling like both he and Ellie could use some having been awake for so long. They had stayed for as long as they could at the hospital the previous night, but eventually the nurses had forced them to leave. Alec was stable enough, they had said. They'd even said that he could wake up sometime today. So Ellie had picked up her boys from Olly's and filled them in with what was happening and had spent a sleepless night in her living room. Luckily it was a school day so Tom would be there for most of the day, and she would only have to worry about Fred.

She'd left early for the hospital, and so had been there for a while before her phone rang.

Having ended the call, Ellie sighed and hung her head, trying to ignore her exhaustion. She hadn't meant to be so short to Beth, she really hadn't, but hearing her old friend call her up now was entirely too painful and ironic and she hadn't wanted to completely lose it over the phone and end up a sobbing and blubbering mess. No way would Beth want to deal with that.

True to what the nurses had stated, Alec was still stable when she'd come in although still very much unconscious. Some of the machinery and such had been taken away during the night so it wasn't quite so crowded or overwhelming, and his heartbeat had leveled out a little as well. He was still hooked up to oxygen.

'He's stubborn,' the doctor had said just an hour earlier. 'He's already bouncing back a little. Most patients take a couple of days to do that.'

Ellie could have told him that, anyway, since she had seen Alec get up the day after his _last_ heart attack and continue working on Danny's case.

John handing her a cup of steaming coffee broke her away from her thoughts, and she muttered a quiet thanks before taking a sip. The brew was bitter—he hadn't put anything in it—and she almost a made a face but knew that she needed the caffeine. She'd go look for some sugar to put in it later. Together they sat in silence, just as they had the day before; and then finally John spoke up.

"I take it you two argued."

Ellie nodded, taking another drink. "I don't know how it happened," she confessed, still honestly confused how she and Alec had come to fighting that morning. "One minute we were fine—great even—and then suddenly we're arguing and hurling insults at one another." She sighed. "And then he said Beth was right to stay away from me."

John's mouth thinned. "Low blow," he said, understanding what hurt that accusation must have caused.

"He's like that, though," she said, shaking her head. "When he's frustrated he lashes out."

"He didn't when I knew him."

She looked over at John, curious. "What was he like, then? Before he arrested you?"

John shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. For a long moment he was silent, clearly looking at past memories. "Quiet. Shy. He was the bookworm, which always made others laugh, 'cos I was the total opposite. But he knew his manners and was a lot less likely to talk back than I was. When he lost his temper, though…" He chuckled to himself.

"Explosive?" Ellie asked, a mite dryly. She had, after all, been the focus of his temper more than once.

"Very. One of the few traits he inherited from his dad. He didn't really lose it much, though, he'd let it build up first. I heard stories from the other lads in the police force that they were all very afraid of pissing him off." He took a drink before frowning. "He was sarcastic but he wasn't _bitter_, not like he is now." He sighed, shifting again. "I dunno. Sometimes I have to wonder why God gives us the lives that he does."

She hadn't thought that he believed. She looked at him quietly for a moment, then leaned forward. "Why did you come here, John? Why come find Alec if you have family?"

He was silent again for a long moment, looking down at the coffee in his cup. "My family comes from a very Presbyterian family. Raised in the church, brought up on the Bible. We had rules, see, in our family. No cussing. No premarital sex. No drinking. And after you were married no divorcing." He caught Ellie's understanding nod. "And of course I told you all about what happened between me and Freya. When I got out of jail, I went to my parents first. Dad had died, Ellie, while I was locked up. Mum hadn't told me. She told me I couldn't stay under her roof anymore. Left me standing out in the rain."

Ellie raised a hand to her mouth, shocked and hurt on his behalf. "That's awful."

He managed a small, bitter smile. "Guess I should have realized she wouldn't want a murderer living under her roof."

"But that doesn't make it right!" It was refreshing now to find herself feeling for someone else's plight, refreshing to know that she could be angry on someone's behalf. It made her feel like her old self a little bit.

He shook his head. "It doesn't. But it is what it is. I was hoping that Alec wouldn't be quite as set off like Mum was."

Which hadn't happened. "He told me once, during Danny's case… 'Anybody is capable of murderer, given the right circumstances.' I always thought that was just one of his usual depressing shit pieces of philosophy."

Her last comment garnered a genuine grin. "I think I like you, Ellie Miller." He took one last swig of his coffee, finishing it off, and threw it in the trash. "You made sure to always tell him off, though?"

"Always."

"Good." He stood again. "Gotta go take a piss. Be right back."

She found herself smiling a little as she sat back in her own seat. She and John really hadn't talked much over the past couple of days but she enjoyed it when they did. He was very real, what you saw was what you got. It was refreshing, too, having company that wasn't automatically judging or disbelieving. Or even quite like Alec, who was always dour.

At that moment his fingers twitched, as if in response to her thoughts, and she straightened. Trust John's timing to be completely wrong! Quietly she leaned over the bed and grabbed hold of his hand again, hoping maybe that would help him surface. His skin was like ice. His eyelashes fluttered as he suddenly grimaced, and slowly he clawed his way to consciousness. It took him a second to focus on her.

"Hey," he croaked.

Ellie placed a bag of grapes beside him, wanting to smack him. "This time, you bloody wanker," she told him with dangerous sweetness, "I bought the ones with seeds."

A rough, dusty chuckle was her answer, and then he grimaced again.

"What's wrong?" Ellie wanted to kick herself for the question (what _wasn't_ wrong now?) but she hoped he would take it as meant.

He did. "Throat's dry."

The doctor had told her and John that it would be. Wordlessly she reached for the glass of water they'd kept for this reason.

When finally his thirst was sated he fell back against the bed again with a low groan. He was breathing too heavily. "How bad?"

She should have known he would ask that, perceptive as he was, but she was caught off-guard, unprepared for the icy hand that suddenly started to squeeze her by the throat. She could only blink stupidly at him as she struggled to find words.

How did you explain to someone that they were dying?

He picked up on it. One eyebrow quirked. "That bad?"

She swallowed hard, answer enough.

He laughed again, that awful ironic little laugh. "How long?" She didn't have to ask what he meant.

How was he taking this so calmly? She shook her head. "They don't know. It could be days. It could be tomorrow. It could be a couple weeks. Your heart's run itself down."

"I don't want to stay here." His words weren't so much a request as a plea. His barriers had dropped slightly; without such tight control he looked very vulnerable, and suddenly very young. "Please."

She was silent for a long moment, looking at him. She wanted to say that it was best if he stayed in the hospital, where he could be taken care of; it was on the tip of her tongue to say so, but found herself unable to say it. "On one condition."

He seemed relieved that she wouldn't fight him. "What?"

"You have to apologize to John first."

0000000

When Beth and Mark made their way over to Ellie's house, it seemed like the latter had barely arrived there before them. She was busy picking things up and cleaning off the table, wiping things in the kitchen down. Beth frowned. Was it that bad by herself, without Joe there to help clean things up?

"I, uh- I'm sorry about the mess," Ellie said, as if in response to Beth's thoughts. She was brimming with nervous energy, unable to stand still. "I, um- I haven't been home much the past couple of days."

"Saw you heading to the hospital," Mark said quietly.

She turned to look at them fully. She looked exhausted, her hair hastily pulled back and un-brushed and deep circles under her eyes. She looked, Beth realized suddenly, like she had during Danny's case. "Yeah," she said softly, blinking, "yeah, I was."

"Is everything alright? It's not-?"

"No, Tom and Fred are fine," she cut in hastily. "They're both fine. Tom should be heading home soon, actually…" But then she trailed off as her thoughtless sentence registered for what it would seem like for the couple standing across from her. Danny should have been walking home with Tom.

"Who is then?" Beth asked, more to break the awful silence than anything.

Ellie paused, as if unsure whether she should tell them. "Alec Hardy."

Beth frowned. Mark's face closed off: it was well known that he held no love for Alec for how he had been treated during Danny's case. "I didn't even know he was still here."

Ellie looked at them in astonishment. "He didn't have anywhere else to go."

"So what's wrong?" Beth asked impatiently, because she wanted to get this over with quickly.

"He had a heart attack." Ellie seated herself at the table, and wordlessly gestured for them to do the same.

"Well… not a bad one, right?" Beth asked, as brightly as she could. She was sure her attempt was ghastly, and she wondered why Ellie cared at all for the gruff, unhappy former DI. "At least he's still alive."

Ellie flinched, and Beth felt her stomach drop. Oh no. Her old friend's fingers were shaking, and she clasped them together. "He's dying, Beth."

The Latimers froze. Mark's slightly-sneering expression when hearing Alec's name mentioned melted into flabbergasted astonishment. For a long moment none of them moved.

"But—he was fine during Danny's case," Beth protested. "He—how could he be _dying_?"

"Heart arrhythmia. A bad case of it. A couple of days before he arres- before he solved Danny's case, he was in the hospital. He'd had a heart attack chasing a suspect. A bad one. The doctors told me he went into cardiac arrest before reaching the hospital. The bloody idiot woke up the following morning an discharged himself."

Beth's jaw dropped. Mark blinked. "He did _what_?"

Ellie nodded. "Came into work and continued the case as if he wasn't still slurring half his words and walking half-dead. Still as sharp as ever, though."

Beth shook her head wonderingly. "He _discharged_ himself…" she whispered, a new horrified respect lacing her tone.

Ellie's dark eyes were solemn. "He needed to see that case through. He told me, 'I can't let the family down'. Neither of us felt we could."

Beth couldn't meet her gaze. "I'm still angry," she confessed quietly. "And I still want to ask you how you didn't know—" Both of them flinched at the same time, but she stubbornly pressed on. "But you were working on solving Danny's murder. I forgot about that. You still brought my boy justice."

"Not me." Ellie was clearly fighting back tears; compulsively she moved forward, as if to lay her hands on top of Beth's like they used to. "I didn't know anything until Alec told me."

"You still worked on it," Mark interjected, hoping his wife wouldn't close up again at Ellie's confession. "Every day. You were there, doing your job. And uh—" He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "We took a while to think straight, but we eventually remembered that you aren't one to keep secrets like that. You would've done something about our husband's actions before it could- before anything happened."

Something in Ellie's posture dropped away, as if she didn't have to pretend that she was strong anymore. Some of the oppressive atmosphere dissipated. "I should have known," she whispered.

Beth swallowed, her own eyes bright. "We all should have."


	9. Chapter 9

"_**Chapter 9"**_

A/N: Quick little update because it has been far too long since I've touched this story, and I was missing it.

0000000

Ellie was gone for the evening, settled at home with her boys; John sat silent vigil beside Alec's bed, cradling what seemed to be his hundredth cup of coffee in his lap. It was quiet, almost peaceful somehow now. Wrapped in fragile solitude he nearly felt like he could relax a little bit, lulled by the silence of this wing of the hospital, choosing to ignore—however weakly—the situation his old friend was in. By himself he could think and sift through everything that had happened, but now all he wondered was how the _hell_ he had ended up _here_.

"You're going to hurt yourself thinking too hard."

Alec's quiet mumble startled him, spilling the coffee over his hand when he jumped. Muffling a curse, he raised his burnt hand to his mouth and sucked at the red skin, glaring at his old friend. Alec had barely shifted, hadn't even bothered opening his eyes completely, but John thought there was the smallest hint of a grin hidden there beneath that dark beard.

He rolled his eyes at the old joke. "If I only had a brain to hurt, yeah, I know," he retorted, the well-used reply rolling off his tongue. "I can't help it if you were always better at academics."

Alec snorted. "Bullshit. You just didn't apply yourself to studying."

"Aye, that's what I had you for." It was surprising how the easy bantering came back. It was almost as if their confrontation had never happened. John shifted uncomfortably. "I- uh, I'm sorry for, um, any part I had in that heart attack, by the way."

Alec was silent for a long moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he took a deep breath. Just when John thought he wouldn't receive a reply, Alec finally replied quietly, "It was coming for a while. Just didn't know when."

John stared at him. "The heart attack?"

Alec nodded slightly. In the light he still looked wan. Sick. He was still breathing with difficulty, like he couldn't ever seem to catch a deep enough breath. "They'd already said they couldn't help me," he admitted. "I'd waited too long…"

"What about a heart transplant?" Suddenly agitated, John sat forward. "You're only in your forties, after all, it shouldn't be that hard to get on a list!"

"Wouldn't have the time to wait." For a moment they merely looked at each other. "I'm going to be dead in less than a month. Waiting on a list is at least six months."

"Alec—"

"_Don't_." There was just enough fire to Alec's tone that John paused before he really started. He swallowed hard. "Remember when you told me about your great-uncle, back in school, about his heart attack?"

John nodded, feeling a little bit sick when he realized where his old friend was going with this.

"What did he say afterwards, in the hospital?"

"'I'm done'," John whispered; his fingers were clasping his cup of coffee so hard he was sure it would start to break. He had never admitted aloud just how much those two little words had scared him. Young, barely old enough to graduate, he had been genuinely distressed by the idea of anyone—much less a well-loved great-uncle—saying they were 'done'. It hadn't been the idea of Uncle Harry dying, nor had it been the thought of being there; at that point, John had been horrified by the idea that anyone could _know_ they would die. Uncle Harry had fought in the Second World War, had witnessed things no one else in the family had, and had seemed to possess more strength than anyone else John had ever known. To hear him say he was done living had been terrifying—because his great-uncle was simply conceding to life, without fuss, without anger, as if it had been the most logical thing in the world to say that _of course _death could come and claim him.

"But you're not him." He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. "I came here, to Broadchurch, to apologize, Alec. For what my actions did to you." He shook his head, reliving those days following his killing Freya. "I still don't regret what I did. I never will."

"John—"

"Just let me finish!" he snapped, shaking. "It was a betrayal to you, I know it was, and I knew afterwards that it would probably cut a rift between us, if I ever got out of jail. And it did. But those fifteen years… well, I had time to think." He chuckled mirthlessly. "It was hell there, Alec. Jail. Absolute hell. I never got the worst of it, there were always other in-mates who were targets, but just being there, seeing everything… it does things to you."

"What do want?" Alec said gruffly. "Sympathy?"

"You haven't had the easiest life either these past fifteen years, either," John snapped. "Ellie says you're divorced, and I've been able to read the occasional paper. 'Worst Cop in Britain', is it?"

He expected Alec to respond with anger, indignation; he was surprised, then, when instead the former cop suddenly seemed to wilt, the fire of just a moment before dying out. He swallowed hard, looking away. "I failed a case."

"Is that all?" It was John's turn to speak a mite snidely.

"My wife was having an affair. She lost crucial evidence and it allowed a girl's murderer to walk free."

Oh. _Shit_. John was tempted to find something to smash his head against, but ultimately decided that would be a little bit too immature for his age. He settled for a face-palm. "Damn. Neither of us have learned to keep our mouths shut, have we?"

He definitely caught a grin now as Alec shook his head. "Miller told me I couldn't leave the hospital unless I apologized to you first."

Startled, he looked at his old friend. "Strict woman. I like her more every minute."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Shut up, I'm trying to decide whether I can without giving myself an aneurysm."

"Very funny."

"Would it count if I didn't but told her I did?"

John snorted. "Not bloody likely. You're an awful liar." He was amazed how easily they were falling into the old familiar ribbing, but quickly sobered. "For what it's worth, I am sorry I- brought up your dad."

Alec was silent again for a long time. "Suppose I needed it," he admitted quietly. "Miller's right. I can be an arse sometimes." Then, even more quietly: "I'm sorry, too. For what I said."

John couldn't help but grin, leaning in. "Didn't catch that, sorry."

"Don't make me repeat it, so help me…"


End file.
